Potter the Potter
by Voldy the Ringbearer
Summary: Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, Bane of Lord Voldemort, yada yada, has a muggle pottery class with Draco Malfoy. Will it go well? Crackfic.


**This is a collaboration between DancingChestnut and Sonata Appassionata. Do check out our accounts! ^^ This is a crack fic inspired by a real life pottery lesson. Hope you enjoy and remember to review!**

**Disclaimer: We don't own Harry Potter.**

The tables were greasy, covered in dried glue, and stank of burned wax.

Ew.

Harry Potter, the Boy who Lived, the Chosen One, Bane of Lord Voldemort, Survivor of the Killing Curse, was sitting at one of the tables in a Muggle pottery class, picking at a glob of dried glue on the table. His hands already felt just a little too waxy from the sheet of clay that seemed to be spread on the tabletop. He was also seriously wishing that he could just stop breathing. You could use magic in special circumstances, and wasn't being suffocated by this stench a circumstance special enough for him to just summon some air freshener?

Ugh, some artists' skills seemed supernatural, even as supernatural as wizards like him,mind you, but did they really have to be so messy?

The teacher came round to their table and placed a glob of wet clay in front of him. Harry stared at it. Reaching out a finger, he poked it unenthusiastically, frowning. His finger felt unnaturally cool and smooth. How did artists' hands end up like every time they finished a masterpiece? And what the hell was he supposed to do with this thing?

"Hermione? What do we _do_?"

Hermione was gazing expectantly at the muggle teacher at the front of the classroom.

"We," she replied, as though saying it for the millionth time - which she had - "should listen."

Harry scowled. He shouldn't even have asked. He turned his gaze to Ron, who was sitting on his other side.

"Don't ask me, mate. Just watch Hermione or something."

Harry groaned and resisted to smack his face into the disgusting table. So, no one wanted to help him, huh. This just got better and better, didn't it.

"So, you just roll the clay into a ball, then press your thumb into it," the teacher droned.

Press your _tongue_ into it?

Harry turned to Hermione. "Press your..._tongue_ into this... This..." Harry floundered wildly for words. "This _thing_?!"

Hermione gave the scowl that she had perfected since first grade.

"Your thumb, Harry. Really, you should seriously clean that ear of yours some day!"

"All right, all right."

"Start working!" The teacher announced in that falsely cheery voice.

Harry scowled. That teacher hadn't even showed them how to do it! Stupid teacher. He almost preferred Snape.

Almost.

Well, he had no choice but to do this thing. Hermione was dutifully crafting a smooth-edged little cup, that actually looked almost presentable. Ron was trying desperately shape his own cup, which was currently looking like a squashed and lopsided ball of muck. Harry's clay, however, looked just like a grey pancake at this point of time. He hadn't even started thinking about what he was supposed to do.

Harry nudged Ron again, "Hey, you -"

Ron gave a yelp and promptly dropped his ball of clay into the waiting bowl of water.

"Bloody hell!" Ron yelled loudly, causing people to stare and the teacher to cast a disapproving look in their direction.

"Ron," Hermione said, "take it out, quick."

Ron shoved back from his chair and almost toppled over, but Harry quickly shot out his hand to grab him before he hit the floor.

"No, I'm not touching that thing! No way! Not in blazes -"

Hermione sighed loudly, exasperated.

"Keep quiet, Ron! You're disrupting the class."

"Whatever it is," Ron said firmly, "I'm not touching that glob of mulch. I'm not getting my hands dirty! Why don't you do it?"

"Well... No."

"See?"

Harry laughed. With one quick grab, he took the ball of almost liquid clay out of the water and lobbed it at Ron's ear.

"Hey!" Ron yelled.

Sputtering, he rubbed the slime off his face and made a sudden lunge for Harry's clay. He scooped it up and splattered it at Harry's face.

"You shit!"

Harry picked up the extra slab of clay lying on the table, and hurled as hard as he could at Ron.

With a yell, Ron ducked. The wet, grey slab missed him by about an inch. It sailed over his head, toward the other side of the table, where Draco Malfoy and his gang of cronies were sitting and... And...

Splat!

The clay hit an unwary Malfoy straight in the face. He let out a strangled yell. His royal, pale features were splattered in wet clay. His carefully parted white blonde hair was soiled, bits of clay still hanging off the sides.

Harry and Ron both roared with laughter, clutching at their sides. Hermione looked up from crafting her perfect cup, and even she was trying not to giggle.

Draco Malfoy came up, sputtering, swiping the clay off his face.

He turned to Harry and Ron, a murderous expression on his face.

"I'll tell my father about that! How dare you!"

Well, that was expected, at least. It was probably the only phrase that existed in Malfoy's vocabulary. Harry and Ron rolled their eyes and smirked at each other.

Because, really, _this_ was how pottery class should be like.


End file.
